


and I'll be yours for the weekend

by hippohead



Category: Glee
Genre: Christmas fic, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Christmas Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, but specifically:, inspired by 'tis the damn season by taylor swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippohead/pseuds/hippohead
Summary: Sleeping with Blaine Anderson is Kurt's favourite Christmas tradition.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 62
Kudos: 166





	and I'll be yours for the weekend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Merry belated Christmas! I couldn't stop listening to 'tis the damn season by Taylor Swift and this had to happen because my brain was like! make it Klaine! If you celebrate Christmas, I hope it was a wonderful one this year despite everything going on, and I'm sending u lots of love if you weren't able to be with your family. I don't know why but it being near the end of the year is making me feel sentimental about everything and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has welcomed me into the Klaine fic community and for supporting the silly things that I have written. Grateful and excited to be here. Anyway, that's enough rambling -- enjoy!

Kurt cannot keep his eyes off Blaine Anderson tonight. 

He has a reason for it, though. He’s trying to figure something out; the shift. Because for all of the years they spent together at high school and in the same glee club, things had remained painfully platonic. It had been a mutual stubbornness, really – the nature of their relationship. They were the only out kids at their school and so everyone had just assumed they’d get together. He still remembers the day they decided they wouldn’t. It wasn’t long after Blaine had transferred to McKinley and they had hung around after glee practice to re-organise the sheet music, and they’d found their way to that conclusion. 

It was because it so _typical_ of everyone to pair them off, to just shove the two gay kids together whether there was any attraction or not, and so they'd shaken hands and confirmed that they would be friends, nothing more, just to spite everybody. Kurt was young and indignant about his sexuality and so he'd agreed, ignoring the fact that there _was_ attraction. From his side, anyway. 

But it had felt like a way to rebel. It had felt like a way to have some power. 

And then they had gone to colleges on different coasts – Kurt in New York and Blaine in Los Angeles – and they had spent a couple of months apart adjusting to their new surroundings and only vaguely keeping in touch. He can’t know for sure but if Blaine’s experience has been anything like his, he’s met so many guys just like him that he can’t keep count. He knows what it feels like, now, to not make up one entire half of the out gay community at a school. 

Maybe that has something to do with this shift between them. Because he knows what the looks and glances that Blaine is sending his way are, now. He knows what they _mean_. And he’s sending them back. 

He takes a sip of his eggnog – and who keeps letting Mercedes make these? They're all going to die from alcohol poisoning in Tina’s basement – and turns it over once more in his head. Then it dawns on him, final and clear, and he smiles as the understanding of it all settles around him: stubbornness is no longer a part of this. If anything were to happen between them now, it would be a choice, rather than the only option. 

It would be them choosing each other. 

Kurt watches as Blaine pats Mike on the back, wrapping up the conversation they’ve been having for the past fifteen minutes, and then weaves his way through all of their friends. Or, all of their friends that had managed to make it to Tina’s reunion Christmas party. Kurt had questioned the validity of calling it a reunion when it had only been a handful of months since they’d all split off around the country for college, but he had to admit it was nice to see almost everyone in the same room again. 

Blaine appears next to him, a fresh cup of eggnog in his hand and Kurt wants to ask how many he’s had because there’s a permanent and goofy smile on his face, and there’s a flush in his cheeks. 

“You’re jolly,” he comments. They haven’t really caught up properly – just hugged hello when Blaine had walked through the door and lightly filled each other in on the basics; the weather in LA, the dorm rooms at NYADA, their flights home. 

“Well, ‘tis the season,” and there’s a look in his eyes that Kurt is able to read very clearly. 

And it means: ‘tis the season for more than just jolliness; ‘tis the season for coming home and seeing old friends and making choices. 

He’s not sure which one of them gets them to here, to the bathroom on the top floor of Tina’s house that is mostly just for guests that come to stay and probably won’t get used tonight. They’ve pushed the lock in, anyway. He thinks maybe he was the one to, because he’s the one pushing Blaine up against the wall right now, only narrowly avoiding the towel rail. 

“Kurt?” 

Blaine makes his name a question just before anything happens and so Kurt hesitates, “Yeah?” 

And Blaine’s brows furrow for a second, and then it all clears, and the goofy smile is back. “Never mind,” and then he pulls on Kurt’s sweater until their lips connect. 

It’s not really anything at first – just a press of lips, and Kurt’s kissed boys in New York in wilder ways but this already feels like _more_ somehow. Which is ridiculous, really, because in reality this is nothing. But then Blaine makes sure it’s not just nothing; he moves, and Kurt moves with him, and before he knows it, they’re kissing like they really want to, like they _need_ to. He pushes his tongue into Blaine’s mouth to taste if it really is need, and it is, and then there are hands involved. Clutching onto their layers and feeling a little desperate in the grip, and it’s not long before Blaine’s wander under Kurt’s sweater and button-up, and onto the warmed skin of his back. 

Kurt breaks the kiss in a gasp, overwhelmed by how much just that simple touch is making him feel alive and hollowed out at the same time. “Do you- do you want...” 

“Yeah,” Blaine assents, neither of them even knowing how Kurt was going to finish that sentence but being sure that the answer is yeah, _yes._

So he kisses Blaine again and then when it feels like they’re there, he works the button open and the zipper down on Blaine’s jeans, and he takes note of the way Blaine shivers as he runs his fingertips up his length, over his boxer-briefs. And when he finds his way underneath, around Blaine’s cock, he takes note of the sharp intake of breath that elicits, too. 

He could get addicted to this: to the shivering and to the sharp intakes and to the soft moans that he’s now finding, his hand moving faster every time Blaine makes a noise. And he does get addicted - they both do. To the point that they find as many moments as they can for this to happen again, all crammed in to the few days that they’re both in Lima and it feels giddy and casual and hot. 

They talk about so many things. They have that proper catch up the next night in Kurt’s car, parked in a quiet spot near the woods in a post-blowjob haze. Blaine talks about how much he feels out of place on the West Coast, and Kurt talks about how he _doesn’t_ feel like that for the first time in his life. They laugh about funny things that have happened to them in their big cities before they make out in empty houses – little pockets of time where the coast is clear of parents or nosy siblings. And they lay next to each other and talk about how scary it is to not know what the future holds, and if they’ll make it, and their fingers brush against each other as if they want to hold on, but aren’t sure if they’re allowed. 

The one thing they _don’t_ talk about is what it is. 

Because what it is, is choosing each other. But choosing each other doesn’t change the fact that they’re attending colleges on opposite sides of the country and that matters. And so choosing each other has to exist just for the holidays. 

Kurt doesn’t even really feel that sad when they say goodbye. He’s still a little bit blissed out from riding Blaine for the first time – Carole had dragged Burt out for the post-Christmas day sales and Kurt had managed to convincingly feign a headache. It had given them enough time to settle into each other and go out with a... bang. 

He flies home a few days later, and he texts Blaine on New Year's Eve, and he sort of wishes he was here so that he could kiss him. And he thinks about him a lot throughout the year, and sometimes they talk, and sometimes they don’t, and it all just sort of sits in his chest. It’s not uncomfortable – just there. 

And then he’s back in Lima for Christmas, and it happens again, and there isn’t really a discussion about it. Almost as if they shifted so much last year that this is just what they are now, what they _do,_ and god, the sex is good. It’s great, wonderful, fantastic. Better than all of the sex he’s had all year long combined. He gets to feel those shivers and sharp intakes and soft moans that he’s missed – he gets his fill, addicted. 

It happens the next year, too. And the one after that. 

It becomes Kurt’s favourite holiday tradition. And it never leaves his chest – the feeling, the whole damn situation – but it never hurts, so he doesn’t think too much of it. 

He just keeps choosing Blaine, every Christmas. 

* * *

It always sets in at the beginning of December – an expectant and excited feeling. 

And it sets in even harder this year: they’ve both graduated and they’ve got so much to celebrate. He lets the anticipation build up inside of him for the entire month – doesn't reach out to Blaine like he normally would because he wants to see him for the first time all year and have it be overwhelming. This year seems different. He doesn’t know why, but it does. 

It always starts at Tina’s party, every year. He gets there a little early to help her set up, and when Blaine arrives, he knows that the anticipation was worth it – he's stopped gelling his hair so much and it’s soft, still styled but in a way that makes him look older, more settled, more _him._ Kurt’s heart starts to pick up at the sight of him and he wonders when that became a thing – that Blaine could change his heart rate from across the room and without his hands all over him. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says once he's wandered over to where Kurt is standing and there’s a strange restraint in the greeting. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” and he clinks his glass of eggnog against Blaine’s because at this point, Kurt has given in to Mercedes’ recipe. When Tina had decided to make this party a reoccurring event, Mercedes had decided to make her eggnog a tradition of it. He’s gotten used to the unbalanced alcohol-to-milk ratio. 

And then they smile at each other. There’s usually already a heat to them by now, the fire starting from the second they’re in the same room, but Blaine seems to be all out of flame. Kurt frowns at him a little bit, just enough to show that he’s wondering, but not enough to cause a scene. They talk to other people and find out how their friends are going and Blaine barely looks at Kurt. Kurt knows this because he looks at Blaine a lot, and the glances aren’t being returned. 

The thing in his chest – the one he ignores and doesn’t identify and has learnt to live with – starts to ache for the first time. 

And then Blaine is announcing to the room that he has to head out - something about having to pick Cooper up from the airport in the morning, early. It takes him about ten minutes to finally slip away because he keeps getting caught up in goodbyes and Quinn had hugged him for half of those minutes, drunk and apparently overcome with her affection for Blaine all of a sudden. 

Kurt can’t help it. He slips away too and follows Blaine out, only manages to catch him once they’re outside and on the driveway and it seems like there’s a sag to him when he turns at Kurt’s voice. 

“Is- is everything okay?” 

And he means that – wants to know if Blaine is okay and if there’s something going on and also if he did something wrong for their arrangement to not be happening right now. They’re usually in the top-floor bathroom by now, making out like they’re still teenagers. 

But Blaine just says four words and he can hear the resignation in them: “Not this year, Kurt.” 

Kurt blinks. It feels like a rejection even though it shouldn’t. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, because he often wonders about that – about how they’re both always single over the holidays and why that is. Maybe it won’t hurt if that’s the reason. 

“Not this year, Kurt,” Blaine repeats, and then he turns around and walks to his car. 

Kurt stands there in the cold and watches Blaine drive away. Eventually, he realises that he’s forgotten a coat in the slipping away and he can feel the cold in his bones. He should go back inside. He takes one last deep breath to centre himself, because this shouldn’t be painful. 

But it is.

Kurt has no idea why Blaine isn’t choosing him this Christmas. 

* * *

He really tries not to dwell on it. 

There are already a few things organised that they'll both be at – over the years, they've all gotten more and more sentimental about their friendships and they put in the effort to see each other as much as they can, to pepper the holiday season with as many New Directions reunion activities as they can.

Kurt and Blaine usually see each other at these events, and at other quick moments, too. It’s a balance that they’ve spent the past four years perfecting; spending enough time with their families, not raising suspicion amongst their friends, and finding creative ways to be alone. It had always seemed a little silly and juvenile – ridiculous because they’re both so used to having a room in an apartment where they can do whatever they want without worrying about being caught, but suddenly Kurt is missing the sneaking around and the waiting until they had even just an hour with a free house. 

He’s missing Blaine. 

This is the one time of year he gets to have him. It’s the one time of year he gets to be his. 

Because even though they don’t talk about what they are to other, or define anything, there is a softness in the way they touch and a certain type of longing in the way they look at each other. It doesn’t matter that they don’t verbalise it; it’s there, and they both know it. Kurt can't figure out what's changed. 

“You okay, kid?” 

Kurt looks at Burt – he's sitting at the dining table, indulging Carole by helping her with a huge 2000-piece puzzle. The picture is of a pair of snowmen drinking hot chocolate. Kurt had spent a large chunk of last night doing the whole left corner of it, and so he feels like he’s earnt the right to just sit on the couch and watch Burt’s attempts today. 

“Hm?” he asks. He catches Burt’s eye and then nods, assuring him. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” 

“Were you at Tina’s late last night?” 

He wasn’t. “Yeah.” 

Burt’s gaze lingers on him like he doesn’t quite believe anything Kurt’s said but he smiles, eventually, and then turns back to the puzzle. He really hopes he can shake himself out of this mood because he doesn’t get to see his dad all that often and he doesn’t want to waste their time together pouting. 

He decides to make an apple pie to take his mind off everything. Baking usually does that. But then Finn complains when there’s no vanilla ice cream to go with it, and so Kurt begrudgingly nips out to the supermarket after dinner but before dessert, to buy a pint. And _of course_ Blaine is there, standing in the frozen aisle mulling over the Ben & Jerry’s, because life is cruel and awful and horrible and wants Kurt to suffer. 

Maybe he’s feeling a little melodramatic. He pretty sure it’s warranted. 

“Hey,” he says, moving next to Blaine and smiling at him cautiously. He has no idea where they stand. Before anything ever happened between them, they had a really important friendship. They'd still had it, really, even with the Friends with Christmas Benefits thing. Now, he’s not so sure. He’s not sure which parts of them are left, which parts he’s allowed to still cling to. 

But then Blaine smiles back at him and it seems genuine, warming. “Hey, Kurt. It’s good to see you.” 

Okay. He can work with this – with friendly Blaine. As much as he’d rather the Blaine from the last four years who would be picturing pushing him up against the freezers right now and knowing they can’t in public, eyes blowing out with that look that always meant, _we need to get out of here,_ but he’ll take what he can get. “Ice cream for dessert at the Andersons?” 

It feels a little weird and feeble coming out of his mouth, dripping with small-talk and a distance that they usually didn’t have to have, but Blaine just nods. “Cooper demanded it. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be. And annoying.” 

Kurt watches as Blaine rolls his eyes with fondness and finally picks a flavour – half baked. He shuts the door to the freezer and frowns down at the pint of ice cream in his hand, something clearly ticking over and around in his head. And then he breathes in, deep, and turns his head to the side to look at Kurt properly, really properly. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been- well...” and then he frowns again, seemingly stuck, and Kurt just waits. “I don’t want things to be weird or awkward between us just because we’re not... you know, doing _that._ ”

“Sex?” 

Blaine chuckles at his assertion. There was a time when the roles were reversed; when Kurt would stick his head in the sand and ignore the word or the thought of it altogether. A lot has changed since then. Kurt has changed since then. 

“Yes, Kurt. Sex,” and the chuckle is still lingering. “We’re friends, right? First and foremost?” 

Kurt feels like he still has a million questions. He wants to say that he knows they don’t owe each other anything, really, but also don’t they? Sort of? Don't they owe each other _something?_ It had always meant something. It had always meant something to Kurt, at least. “Of course, Blaine. First and foremost.” 

Blaine’s smile is full of relief, and he gives Kurt a one-armed hug that makes Kurt want to retract his statement. There’s no way Blaine is just his friend, first and foremost, when even the most basic of touch makes him feel like _this._

But Blaine seems to have gotten some closure from the conversation and waves as he heads off to the counter, leaving Kurt in the ice cream aisle, suddenly acutely aware of how long this Christmas weekend is going to feel. 

* * *

Kurt’s pretty sure Mercedes is out to get him. 

There’s no way that’s true, really, since no one knows about him and Blaine. They’d actually spent many moments in past years relishing that – laughing because their friends were the nosiest bunch of people they’d ever met, and no one had ever questioned them. Not once. And not even Santana, the nosiest of them all. 

They’d sort of prided themselves on their subtlety. 

And so if he didn’t know better, he would be suspicious that Mercedes had coordinated this on purpose – Blaine being his ride to Caroling in the Square. It was an event that Mercedes helped run every year with her church, and the New Directions always went. Something about needing more good voices to help the choir drown out the tone-deaf nature of the general public. And as much as Kurt wasn’t religious, it was always a beautiful night – the Square decked out in icicles lights, the giant Christmas tree in the corner, and the crowd it drew every year, joyful and singing along and grateful for the music. 

They always meet at Mercedes’ place first and then carpool into the centre of town from there, all piled into the least amount of cars possible. And this year he’s been allocated into Blaine’s car, which would be fine except for the fact that he’s the only one. Brittany couldn’t make it and Mike was planning on meeting them all there so the numbers were uneven and weird, and it was just the way it worked out. 

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Blaine says, smiling.

“I guess so,” he smiles back, his light tone painfully transparent.

And then – silence. God, it’s awful, just sitting in a car with Blaine and not knowing what on earth to say. Kurt thinks about the hours and hours they spent in high school just hanging out together, talking about Broadway and debating who would survive in space the best and lightly arguing over Cameron Diaz’s filmography. 

“Do you still think _Charlie’s Angels_ is Cameron’s best work?” and it feels abrupt asking a question from six years ago, but he’s desperate. He has no idea if the silence is phasing Blaine, but it's definitely phasing him. 

Blaine flicks his eyes over to Kurt and then returns them to the road. “I do. And I’m assuming you haven’t changed your mind, either.” 

“No-” he says, mock serious, “-because it’s clearly _Shrek._ It won an Oscar, Blaine. An _Oscar._ ” 

Kurt watches as Blaine’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, as his jaw sets, as he shakes his head slightly to remind himself that there aren’t any actual stakes in this conversation. “I just don’t think it’s fair to put animation and live-action in the same category. They’re not even remotely comparable,” and his voice is terrifyingly calm. Even. Reasonable. 

Kurt bites back a grin and takes a second to just look at Blaine. His hair looks so soft in this new style and the fact that he’s not allowed to reach out and touch it this year, or run his fingers through it and twirl the curls, aches. It was easier in high school when he didn’t know what he was missing out on. This is an entirely new type of torture: it is being told not this year and finding out that it hurts. And it especially hurts because he’s still so close, so entirely a part of the Christmas period and his hometown and friend group and everything, really. 

“Well, I still think Princess Fiona would beat Natalie Cook in a fight,” he offers, knowing it’ll break the vague tension and ease them back into some sort of common ground. 

And it works. Blaine laughs – loud and amused, and says, “How on earth do you remember the name of her character from that movie?” 

Kurt taps his head, “You know my brain is just full up of useless information like that.” 

“I do,” he nods, his voice a little less amused and a little more sentimental. Like it means something that he does. 

Maybe that’s true, maybe it does mean something. Kurt’s never really thought about how _much_ Blaine knows him, but he realises it’s quite a lot. Three years of unwavering friendship followed by four years of connection. All up, seven years of – something. He shrugs, “Besides, you made me watch it with you one hundred times during senior year when you were going through your Lucy Liu phase.” 

“Mm,” Blaine hums, remembering. “That’s true.” 

The rest of the drive feels fine, better. Blaine turns the radio on and they sing along with Paul Simon under their breaths, laughing together when they get the words wrong. Once they’ve parked, they make their way over to the group that has already started to gather, a mixture of their friends and the choir from Mercedes’ church. He falls into place next to Tina who fiddles with his scarf and tells him looks cute in his matching hat and mittens, and Blaine squeezes in between Sam and Puck. 

Mercedes runs them all through some warm ups, and then it’s time. The Square fills up quickly – this has become one of Lima’s most beloved annual Christmas outings, and it’s packed with families and couples all wrapped up warm and swaying to their rendition of _White Christmas_. 

He knows it’s cliché, but he can’t help his gaze from lingering on Blaine when they sing the chorus of _All I Want for Christmas Is You_. The lyrics feel really potent this year and he should have understood them a long time ago, but they're true. He would give up the presents and the hot chocolate and the holiday themed-movies, because none of that is really what makes Christmas exciting or special anymore. 

Blaine does. Or - Blaine did. 

And then Blaine looks back, eyes locking and holding Kurt's, something painful in them, and he sings. 

_Oh, I just want you for my own_   
_More than you could ever know_   
_Make my wish come true_   
_Baby, all I want for Christmas is you_

Kurt has stopped singing, had to stop on that verse, because it doesn’t make any sense. _Not this year, Kurt._ And then this. Looking and letting Mariah’s words fall out of his mouth as if he means them. Kurt can’t actually hear him; he’s standing on the other side of the carolers and his voice is tied up in everyone else’s, but it’s loud, anyway. 

The song ends. Blaine looks away so Kurt does, too. 

He doesn’t look at Blaine again for the rest of the night. 

* * *

The not looking at Blaine gets interrupted when everything wraps up and they’ve all mingled for a while and Blaine wants to head home. And Blaine is his ride. 

He puts the radio on again but they don’t sing along this time. 

When Blaine pulls up in front of Mercedes’ parent’s place, right next to where Kurt’s car is parked, he doesn’t move yet. There are a million questions circling around in his head but all that comes out is, “Why?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Kurt,” and somehow, he knows exactly what Kurt is asking. “I just can’t.” 

Kurt wants to push it, to ask what the locking eyes and singing was about then, if he can’t. He wants to know why this feels so complicated and heavy. He wants to know, but he’s tired and tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so he just nods. “Okay.” 

“Are you- are you going to Sugar’s dinner tomorrow?” 

“I always do,” he says, and he wonders if that’s the answer Blaine wants to hear. 

“Right, of course. Me too.” 

He gets out of the car and stands on the sidewalk, watches Blaine drive away and pulls his coat around him tighter. “Fuck,” he mutters, because it's suddenly just made sense.

Somewhere in amongst the friendship and the harmless high school crush and the shift and the sex, he’s fallen in love with Blaine Anderson. And he knows it’s true because the thing in his chest is pounding and in pain and letting him know, _this is love, it’s love, what you’re feeling is love._

* * *

Kurt’s been in love before. 

Once, and it hadn’t lasted that long. A summer fling, sort of. And the love was flimsy, not lasting even from the start. But it had been there and then he had left and Kurt had been fine. So, Kurt will be fine. 

The fact that he’s in love with Blaine is not ideal, not in the slightest, but he’ll be fine. 

Blaine has made it very clear that he doesn’t want anything more than friendship from Kurt, and so that is all he will give. He spends the morning cooking with Carole, preparing what they can for their big Christmas meal tomorrow, and then he watches _Die Hard_ with Burt. Or, Burt watches _Die Hard_ and Kurt sits there wrapping presents for his grandparents and then reads a magazine. 

It’s a little while later, a lull in the Christmas activities, when Finn hisses his name. 

“Yeah?” 

He looks a little stressed and so Kurt takes pity on him and follows him into his room. It’s weird to see him in his old room, so full of his high school self. He’s changed a lot; still a little goofy and uncoordinated, but he’s settled into himself so much more and there’s a peacefulness to him that he’s gained with maturity. Or, at least, there is usually a peacefulness. Right now, he looks like anything but. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I thought she was Jewish?!” 

Okay. Clearly Kurt’s not getting a straight answer right off the bat. “What? Who?” 

“Rachel. I thought she was Jewish – why is she always at all of our Christmas events?” 

Kurt was under the impression that Finn and Rachel had gotten to a point where they’d moved passed everything and were fine to hang out in a group setting. “She _is_ Jewish, but she joins in on all of the holiday stuff because she wants to spend time with us all. Why are you freaking out about that?” 

“I got Rachel for the Secret Santa game tonight.” 

Oh. Sugar had sent out names for everyone a couple of weeks ago. Kurt had gotten Tina which was easy for him, and he’d bought his gift for her the day after. It hasn’t been so easy for Finn, it seems, and that’s understandable. There’s a fine line when buying a gift for your ex. “Oh boy. What- what have you got for her?” 

“I panicked,” he says, and then he holds up a pair of socks with cartoon horses on them. 

Kurt laughs – he can't help it. The spiteful part of him wants to tell Finn that they’re perfect just to get back at Rachel for every solo she ever stole from him. But he loves her, despite all that, and so, “No. Finn, no. You can’t give her those.” 

“I know,” and he flops dramatically onto the bed. He’s so tall, and the bed is so small, and it looks a little silly. “What should I do?” 

Kurt thinks it through: the malls are bound to be an absolute nightmare and there’s no way he’s willing to brave that, nor does he trust Finn to survive that chaos. The socks are an absolute no-go. They’re going to have to find something within the house. “Wait here.” 

He heads down to the basement that’s still set up as his bedroom with a few of Burt and Carole’s things stored here and there. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, just hoping that something will jump out at him and make sense. He sifts through some fabric and wonders if he could sew something quickly, but decides he doesn’t want to spend the whole afternoon working on it. He does have a framed picture of Patti Lupone on his shelf but Rachel would recognise it – too many sleepovers during their high school days where she would have seen it and known that Finn hadn’t put any effort in. 

And then he finds the perfect thing. 

“Judy Garland and Liza Minnelli, Live at the London Palladium,” Finn reads out slowly, turning the vinyl over in his hands. “You think she’ll like this?” 

“I know she will. And she has a record player in her apartment in New York, I noticed it the last time I was over for dinner.” 

“Okay,” Finn nods, back to peaceful and a little bit goofy, all of the stress gone from his features. “Thanks, little brother.” 

“I’m not- we're the same age, Finn,” but it doesn’t matter, really, because Finn is hugging him and who cares about nitpicking their ages. He misses his brother during the year, and if he wants to claim the couple of months he has on him, then he’ll let him. 

They go to the party together, for once ready at the same time and able to coordinate. Finn offers to be the sober driver and Kurt is grateful, willing to drink even Mercedes’ eggnog generously tonight if it means he can get a little buzz. He’s pretty sure he’s going to need it. 

Sugar opens the door at their knock, dressed in a red shift dress with a white fluffy trim, and screeches, “Kurt and Finn are here!” 

She takes their gifts off them and hurries to put them under the tree before anyone sees, the secrecy of the Santa remaining important until the last second, and then leads them into the lounge. Kurt’s been coming here for this Christmas Eve dinner party for three years now, and he still can’t wrap his head around how grand her parent’s house is. Everyone is here – all of the New Directions and a couple of other people that Kurt knows vaguely from high school, and then some of Sugar’s other friends that he only knows from this event in previous years. 

Mercedes hasn’t made eggnog but there is a bunch of spirit bottles lined up in the kitchen with mixers and sign that says ‘help yourself’, so he very much does. And he’s just finishing making a gin and tonic when a body appears next to him, and he can tell without turning that it’s Blaine by the way his chest tightens. 

“Hey,” Blaine murmurs, and it’s soft. 

“Hey. Fancy seeing you here.” 

It's a reference to their conversation in the car last night, when they'd weirdly affirmed to each other that they'd be here tonight, even though they both come every year. But he's trying to keep it light and easy until he goes back to New York and Blaine goes back to Los Angeles and he can be fine again. 

He can start untangling Blaine from Christmas, and from his heart. 

“I know, it’s crazy. We gotta stop meeting like this.” 

It falls flat, the joke, because there’s an undercurrent inherent in that phrase and that’s confusing. Kurt just smiles, tries to keep the sad out of it, and then makes his way back over to Finn. 

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch – the dinner is delicious and excessive and everyone eats too much, and then they pile around the tree to get their gifts. Kurt watches Tina open hers – a film camera – subtlety, enjoying the shine in her eyes when she realises what it is. Rachel is, obviously, over the moon with her gift and Finn sends Kurt a grateful smile. Blaine gets a bowtie with reindeer on it and Kurt catches the glint of pride in Quinn’s eyes at his enthusiasm. Kurt gets a beautiful burgundy cashmere scarf that is so soft to touch and he suspects Sugar – it's expensive, more expensive than their price limit, and she winks at him when he sends her a knowing look. 

Blaine has to leave early – has had to leave early at every event so far. He makes the rounds and says goodbye and heads out the front door while everyone else is still settled in for a long and fun night. And maybe it’s the two gin and tonics he’s had since he bumped into Blaine in the kitchen, but he ignores the part of his brain that is warning him and he follows Blaine, just like he did at Tina's. 

He grabs a small box from his coat pocket on the way out, catching up to him on the driveway and the parallel of it should be enough to stop him. The last time they talked like this, outside and in the cold and with questions, it had started this unravel. 

“Blaine?” 

He turns but this time there is no sag. Maybe a little bit of a brace, but it’s better than a sag. 

“Kurt? Is everything okay?” 

He breathes out, seeing his breath in the air and turns his head to the side. This is a bad idea. “Yeah, I just- I have a Christmas present for you.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know,” and he does know but he’s addicted. He hasn’t been getting what he usually does – the deep sounds and the rugged breaths and the awe in Blaine’s eyes – that keeps him tide over. But the sight of Blaine slipping out the door and knowing that he wouldn't see him again until after Christmas day had urged him to do this, and if all he gets this year is a small smile over a thoughtful gift, then he’ll take it. He feels a little desperate for it, actually. To see his lips curl and for it be because of Kurt. But he doesn't want Blaine to know that so he adds, jokingly, “We usually get each other a blowjob for Christmas, and since that won’t be happening this year...” and he holds out the present in his hand. 

Blaine raises his eyebrows at Kurt, but he can see that there is an amused smile pulling at his lips. It feels like enough – like even if he opens the gift and hates it, at least Kurt got to see that tug. It does feel a little weird to have that hanging in the air, though. 

“Sorry. I’m nervous,” and they both laugh a little. “Here, take it. Open it.” 

“Okay, okay,” Blaine shakes his head at Kurt’s impatience and takes it, undoes the wrapping, tries not to rip it, and Kurt feels almost ready to scream at his pace. And then he’s there, the harmonica falling into his freezing hand and he holds it for a moment, just looking. 

“You mentioned last year... you said something about wanting to learn how to play.” 

Blaine nods, eyes still cast on the instrument and rolling it over and over, admiring it. 

“The guy at the store said this was a really good brand, especially for beginners. But knowing you, you’ll pick it up in no time.” 

Blaine still doesn’t really say anything, just nods again to show he heard Kurt and continues to stare at the gift. Kurt’s starting to wonder if he’s crossed the line – friends can get friends gifts for Christmas, right? But then Blaine looks up and there’s something there in his eyes that feels new. 

“Kurt, this is-” and he takes a deep breath in, looks at the distance between them, and cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to figure something out. “This is- oh, fuck it.” 

And what he was figuring out must have been how to close this distance, make it nothing, because suddenly it doesn’t exist anymore. What does exist is Blaine, still clutching his harmonica in one hand and Kurt’s face in the other, kissing him. It’s more desperate than it’s ever been, but it’s not rushed. The desperate is in how deep it is right away, long and unhurried and already in Kurt’s bones. 

It becomes very clear very quickly that they need to move this somewhere else – they’re shivering and Blaine started it but neither of them know how to stop. Kurt is still addicted, and the way Blaine can’t seem to pull away makes Kurt wonder if he still is, too. 

“Blaine, your hand is so cold,” and he whispers it against Blaine’s lips. He doesn’t mean that he _wants_ Blaine to move his hand away from his cheek, just that maybe they should get somewhere warm before they both freeze. 

He drops it anyway, “Shit. Sorry.” 

“What’s happening?” he asks, because he knows what’s _happening_ , logically, but they weren’t supposed to do this. Not this year. Blaine was the one who had outlined that. “I thought you said-” 

“I know what I said,” and they’re still so close together, huddled in the chill, and it’s intoxicating. “Can we just pretend that I didn’t? Please?” 

And he has to ask, “Are you sure?” because as much as he wants to sink into this and let it happen, he needs to know that Blaine actually wants it, wholeheartedly. 

Blaine looks at him for a moment, his nose turning red and his cheeks flushed, and it’s so intense that Kurt feels entirely exposed, revealed, taken apart. “ _Kurt._ ” 

It’s the plea in his name that makes Kurt understand: Blaine _is_ addicted, desperate and longing and has his own things about Kurt that he catalogues, remembers, hasn’t been getting this year. They’re both as bad as each other. He nods and follows Blaine to his car. They don’t talk and they don’t listen to music, but unlike yesterday, it feels right. Like this silence is on purpose. 

He sends a quick text to Finn, asking him to gather up his things for him when he leaves and to let him know that he doesn’t need a ride home. They pull up outside Blaine’s parent’s place and it’s weird, walking in the front door like he used to in high school. He’s gotten so used to sneaking around the side and hoisting himself into Blaine’s room. 

“My parents are at some fancy Christmas Eve party in Columbus and Cooper’s at his ex-girlfriend's place,” Blaine explains without Kurt asking. 

They don’t indulge in the pretense that Kurt is here for any other reason than being what they usually are, doing what they usually do, and so they head straight to Blaine’s room. It looks exactly the same as it always does. There are so many lingers of memories in here, playing board games and watching _Moulin Rouge_ an exorbitant amount of times and pushing Blaine back into his bookcase in the heat of a moment, kissing fiercely and on fire. They all feel important, every iteration of them that has been in this room. They feel really important right now, too. 

Blaine moves towards his bedside table and places the harmonica down there, almost reverent, and stays with his back to Kurt for a second. And then he turns around with intention, still soft but purposeful, determined.

“Come here.” 

Kurt does; it’s the easiest instruction to follow because he wants nothing more than to be there, next to Blaine, as close as they were on Sugar’s driveway. “Hey,” he says, leaving a tiny step of space between them. 

“Hey. Fancy seeing you here,” and Blaine’s voice is already a little deeper, rougher. Kurt can’t help any of it; the smile that breaks out on his face, the uninhibited giggle that escapes him, the softening of his eyes at the silliness and the callback of the line. Blaine watches in wonder and then says, “I’ve missed seeing you smile this year.” 

“I’ve smiled plenty,” he says, feeling oddly defensive of his happiness. 

“I guess so,” and he takes a step that closes the tiny gap that Kurt had left between them, and reaches up to trace where the smile just was with his thumb. “But I missed _this_ smile.” 

And what he means is: the one that Kurt can’t stop from happening when he’s around Blaine, the one that is real and free and reaches to the ends of him, the one that is sort of _theirs._

Blaine drops his thumb and instead runs his fingers along the lapel of Kurt’s jacket, his eyes following the movement. And then his fingers slip underneath the fabric, his other hand coming up to mirror it, and he pushes the jacket off altogether. The air feels tight, like there’s only enough for them to take short, quick breaths. It feels thick, too, the air – full of some sort of warmth that tastes like relief. Blaine starts on the buttons of his shirt and Kurt tries to take it all in; it’s not like this is the first time Blaine has undressed him, but there’s usually a rush to it. 

There is no hurry in Blaine right now. 

His shirt falls to where his jacket is laying on the floor and Blaine moves to kiss his jaw, the curve of his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder. And then he rests his forehead there while his hands start working on Kurt’s belt, fumbling the tiniest bit and then wasting no time in letting the pants drop and pool around his ankles. He presses his fingertips into Kurt’s stomach and lets them trail down, hook into the waistband of his underwear, and pull. 

“God, Kurt-” 

He sort of wants to ask what that means; the tone and the breathlessness, but he doesn’t really get a chance because Blaine has straightened up a little bit, taking him all in. That reverence from before is still in his eyes but it’s reserved for Kurt now, only Kurt, the harmonica long forgotten. 

“I always try to remember- to keep a hold of knowing what it feels like to see you like this. But every year, I just... you take my breath away all over again.” 

Maybe he should feel exposed, standing in Blaine’s bedroom wearing nothing while Blaine is fully dressed, but he doesn’t. A little vulnerable, sure, but the way Blaine is looking at him – god, he’s never felt more _adored._ There is so much want in it, more want than there’s ever been. The words are new, too. Of course, they would huff out admiring sentences as they fucked in the past, but there had never been anything as substantial as that. And never an omission of their time together leaking in to the time they spend apart. 

Blaine finally manages to drag his eyes back up to Kurt’s and then he kisses him, the fabric of Blaine’s sweater against his bare skin, and there’s a build to it. A build that is starting to set them on fire, the heat that they crave from each other finally licking their skin, warm and burning and hot. And when they’re a flame, Blaine pushes Kurt down onto his bed and climbs over him, their bodies finding each other as if they haven’t spent a year apart, like they match. 

He pulls at Blaine’s sweater, all of a sudden desperate for it to be off, for everything to be off. Blaine had undressed him carefully and with aim, but he’s undressing Blaine messily and hasty and from underneath him. He doesn’t get the time to marvel at Blaine like Blaine had to marvel at Kurt because he drops down the second he’s naked, sucking at Kurt’s throat and rutting against him. 

It feels insane – like they got here too fast but also like there’s nowhere else he could imagine being. Blaine moves back up to kiss him, his hips still shifting and moving with Kurt’s, the friction rough and uneven but perfect, perfect, so perfect. 

He almost cries out when Blaine lifts his hips and breaks the contact, the loss so sharp that his hips buck a little bit, searching for him. And then Blaine’s hand wraps around him, strong and just like how he remembered, and it feels so good that he forgives him for the small distance he’s put between their bodies. Kurt closes his eyes because keeping them open feels impossible, so when Blaine licks up his shaft and pulls him into his mouth, he isn’t expecting it. 

“Jesus, Blaine,” Kurt pants. 

Blaine pulls off just to say, “I want you to come, okay? I’ve got you.” 

Kurt nods, knowing he’s not that far off anyway and especially if Blaine keeps doing _that_ , his finger teasing at his hole just because he can and his mouth moving faster and faster. Just before he gets there, when he’s standing right on the edge and looking out at everything, he wonders what it is about Blaine that feels like home. It seems like more than just the fact that their families live in Lima, that they did the last bit of growing up together. 

Blaine makes him feel settled. Like he doesn’t need anyone else, never will. Blaine is walls and blankets thrown over couches and matching dinner sets. He wants to hang curtains on his arms and live here. 

And then he falls over the edge, spilling into Blaine’s mouth and he swallows it all, gets Kurt through it just like he said he would. He doesn’t even give himself a second to properly come down – just pushes Blaine up and over, moving to between his legs and returning the favour. Blaine’s already so hard, to the point he knows it won’t take much. He wishes he had more time to really do this, make it perfect and wonderful, but he knows that Blaine just needs a release because his hand keeps hovering nearby while Kurt is softly biting into his thigh. He knocks his hand away and takes Blaine into his mouth, and _fuck,_ he always loves this first taste – when he gets to remember what sex with Blaine is like on his tongue. 

He was right; it doesn’t take much. Blaine is writhing in no time, basically was from the second he wrapped his lips around him, and he works him through it just like Blaine did for Kurt. And then he pulls off with a dirty pop, and kisses just above his hip. 

He rolls over onto the other side of the bed and finally allows himself a come down, his chest heaving in time with Blaine’s. 

“Mm,” Blaine hums, and then laughs a little bit. “I got a present _and_ a blowjob this year.” 

“Well, ‘tis the season,” Kurt replies, laughing a little bit too, more than happy to be so generous. But the phrase reminds him of when this all started, four years ago, and even though he doesn’t really want to, he says, “I should probably go.” Being together, afterwards, like _this_ , has never really been a part of the deal. Usually, clothes are put back on and conversations soaked in years of friendship and trust happen. In an hour it’ll officially be Christmas, though, and he should get back home before it gets any later. 

Blaine mumbles something and then throws am arm around Kurt’s waist just as he starts to leave the bed, “Stay. You should stay.” 

He looks at him; eyes still closed and a clumsy smile on his face. Open. Willing. Asking him to stay. 

“I... can’t. Besides, we usually don’t.” Blaine opens his eyes at Kurt’s words and withdraws his arm. “Stay, I mean. We usually don’t stay.” 

“Right.” 

But the word is hollow and it sounds... sad. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sheet still twisted around his waist awkwardly and back curving forward as he leans his elbows on his knees. “I just... fuck. This is why I said- this is why I couldn’t _do_ this, this year.” 

And just like that, Kurt is sharing the hollow and the sad. It feels so narrow and it's painful to hear him say words that basically mean he regrets it, regrets what they _just_ did, spoken aloud as if they wouldn’t burrow under Kurt’s skin and rot. “Blaine, I’m so sorry. I thought you wanted-” 

“I did,” and he cuts Kurt off, hearing the implication in the apology, needing to assure him that he was right there with him the whole time, wanting. “I _do_. That’s why this is all so messed up.” 

“What does that mean?” and he's begging for an answer. At first he doesn’t think he’s going to get one, and then - 

“I’m moving to New York, Kurt.” 

It goes quiet, very suddenly and entirely. Everything feels so scrambled, like someone grabbed them and shook. Blaine’s still facing away from Kurt, bent over, letting the floor catch the words he just said. The fact that they’re having this conversation naked catches up to him and he feels ridiculous. What’s being said is leaving him bare enough already, and so he pulls his underwear on and starts buttoning up his shirt. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Jesus, Blaine. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” 

“Are you leaving?” 

He’s turned around finally, eyes trailing Kurt as he continues to redress himself. He ignores the question, “I don’t understand what the problem is here.” 

“I can’t tell you what the problem is.” 

Kurt huffs – actually _huffs,_ the breath coming out of him sharp and frustrated, and he’s fully dressed now, jacket hanging over his arm and patience almost emptied out. “Blaine, I don’t know what’s going on or why you can’t tell me, but I really need you to help me out here. You told me you didn’t want to do anything this year and I respected that, but then _you_ kissed _me,_ and we’re here again. I don’t see why you moving to New York has anything-” 

“This only works when I have to go back to LA.” 

Blaine stops talking and Kurt’s about a second away from feeling wild – his heart is all over the place and it’s starting to catch up with the fact that they were just together, _together_ -together, so completely tangled and selfless and unpacking. But he doesn’t say anything, _can’t_ say anything, just waits and waits. 

Blaine gets dressed to the point where he’s wearing underwear and a shirt and then he sighs into an elaboration, “This only works when I know that we’re going to opposite sides of the country afterwards. It only works when I don’t have to think about who you spend time with in between me, during the year, because I don’t see it and I don’t have to ask. It only works when the holidays are the only time we see each other, when this is just something special and sacred and ours.” He’s gesturing between the two of them but he feels so far away. “This only works when it is _that_ , and it won’t be anymore. It already isn’tthat. And when I get to New York – Kurt, I don’t know how to be around you all the time, there, and it not be this. For us to not be what we are here.” 

There’s so much to figure out in all of that and he sort of just wants to yell, _I love you, you idiot_ , but it feels too early. His feelings still seem private and raw and he hasn’t let them seed. He wants to ask why they can’t be what they are here, there. But he knows the answer – that's another shift. And how much shifting can they do? 

“ _Blaine,_ ” comes out of his mouth because he doesn’t really know what else to say except for his name and hope it means something more. 

But it mustn’t be enough because Blaine drops his head, gaze back on the floor and he nods as if he understands something that Kurt doesn’t. “I think- maybe you should go.” 

_You should stay. Maybe you should go._

Kurt goes. 

* * *

Kurt’s exhausted when he wakes up but he’s grateful that no one in the Hudson-Hummel household is of an age that requires getting up at an ungodly hour for Santa. He pads downstairs when the smell of Carole making French toast wafts into his bedroom and finds Burt setting the table with tinsel embellishments and Christmas-themed crockery. 

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” and he hugs him despite the cutlery in his hands. 

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” Burt laughs into the surprise affection. “Go wake that brother of yours up, will you?” 

It takes numerous attempts to actually get Finn out of bed and freshened up enough to sit at the table for breakfast but they get there in the end, and it feels nice to be surrounded by his family. He lets that feeling take over and files everything about Blaine away – he’ll have time to deal with that later. 

They open presents and start drinking far too early because the mulled wine makes them feel festive and Carole has her Michael Bublé CD on repeat so they’re all singing along to that when his grandparents walk through the door. And he cries, because he always does when he sees them and they tell him how proud they are of him and how proud his mom would be. 

Their Christmas dinner is incredible and entirely too much food for the six of them, and they drink more mulled wine and watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ together, and then Carole stays up and watches _While You Were Sleeping_ with Kurt. 

He goes to bed tired, and happy, and aching in his chest. 

* * *

He’s not sure who started this tradition – probably Puck – but they always gather by the back gates of McKinley late at night on the 26th, a final hurrah before everyone starts heading off back home. The point is to sneak into the choir room, but there’s less sneaking involved in it ever since Rachel started borrowing Mr. Schue’s set of keys. It still _feels_ against the rules though – dark and deserted and everyone whispering – and so it’s the perfect way for them to say goodbye to each other for another year. 

He almost isn’t going to go. 

But then Finn forces him out of bed and into his car, wrapped up warm in a coat and scarf and his sleep-grumpy attitude towards the whole excursion. 

“One day we’re all going to have to grow up and stop breaking into our old high school,” he says, his gaze on the suburban houses that are flicking past his eyeline. 

“I think it’s fun,” Finn shrugs. 

It _is_ fun. He’s just being contrary about it because Blaine is going to be there and he hasn’t figured out what he’s supposed to do or say to him just yet. And god, it still aches – his chest, and it feels like maybe this is the most it ever has. 

Almost everyone is there when they sneak up to the spot they always meet in and he hugs everyone hello. Once Tina and Mike arrive, Puck runs through a quick roll call to double check that they’re not still waiting on anyone, and then they make their way to the back door that is conveniently open for them. Quinn grabs Kurt’s hand and giggles and he squeezes it, locking eyes with Rachel at the same time and sending her a knowing look – she always gets here before everyone else to slip into the building and disarm all of the alarms. 

It always reminds him of that scene in _The Breakfast Club_ , this part. The part where they all run through the hallways as if they’re going to get caught, when in reality there’s no one here but them. They all pile in to the choir room and cheer, triumphant. Brittany flicks the light on and Blaine makes his way over to the piano immediately. 

Sam and Santana start them all off with a duet to the tune that Blaine is playing, but Kurt barely even hears the song. He’s looking at Blaine, so focused on the keys underneath him and moving with the notes, engrossed, wholly him. And his hair, his goddamn hair, still so new in its softness, and Kurt isn’t sure how to just _stand_ here anymore, so he pulls a plastic chair down from the stack and sits in it. 

Blaine takes them through a few more songs, everyone singing and having their moment, laughing. He forces himself to look at everyone, not just Blaine, and to be thankful for all of them. It’s special, this bond they’ve all somehow kept, and he smiles. 

“Kurt?” 

He shakes himself, realising that someone has been calling his name. It’s Sam, hovering in front of him. “Yeah?” 

“We’re all going to the auditorium to sing _Don’t Stop Believing_ , are you coming?” 

Kurt looks around and realises that everyone is rushing out and towards the auditorium, holding hands and full of joy and then he sees Blaine, still at the piano but not playing anything and not following the group. 

“I’ll come in a little bit, Sam.” 

Sam nods and then turns, “Blaine?” 

“Um... yeah. We’ll catch up.” 

Sam nods again and then sends them both an odd look, before running out the door to catch up with everyone. Kurt waits until that chaos settles a little bit and then he makes a decision. It feels final and right, like maybe he should have just said something two nights ago when he was standing in Blaine's room and Blaine was trying to give him a little bit of his heart in a round-about way. “Have you ever wondered why I’m never in a relationship around this time of year?” 

Blaine hums quietly, “Why is it?” 

“So that I can be with you. And I guess I always thought; if all I ever get is a weekend with you, once a year, then that’s enough for me. At least it’s something. And I didn’t want anything to ever get in the way of that, so I always sort of... shut down, romantically, in November. To make sure I can be yours.” 

“Oh," Blaine manages, as if that's a lot for him to comprehend. "Two years ago, I broke up with my boyfriend on the way to the airport.” 

Kurt's a little embarrassed by the smile that’s tugging on his lips. That shouldn’t amuse him – he's sure Blaine’s ex got his heart broken. “Blaine, that’s _awful._ ” 

Blaine scrunches up his nose, “I know, but... just the thought of not getting to be us for the holidays sucked too much. And it was worth it, by the way. That was the year you-” 

“Okay, okay,” Kurt laughs, knowing _exactly_ what he did that year and not wanting to taint their childhood choir room with the memory. He starts to make his way over to the piano and towards Blaine, “I think what we’re both getting at is that we... well, we like being together.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine confirms, looking up at him, watching him get closer. 

“And that, maybe, it’s something we would both like to extend into times that exist outside of the Christmas period?” 

He sits down on the bench next to Blaine, smiling at the way Blaine’s eyes soften at that, at Kurt’s first real admission that he wants something more, something more than a Lima hook up. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Definitely.” 

“Okay,” Kurt nods, pretending to be deep in thought about his next question when really, it’s something he’s wished he could have asked all along. “In that case, can I take you on a date once you get to New York?” 

Blaine smiles, sweet and breath-caught and there’s that awe again, “I’d really like that.” 

Kurt fiddles with the piano keys in front of him, figuring out the basic melody of the song he wants and then he sings, under his breath. 

_Oh, I just want you for my own_   
_More than you could ever know_   
_Make my wish come true_

And Blaine does – cuts him off there with his hand on his cheek and pulling, gently, encouraging Kurt to face him, and then he kisses him. It feels different from all of the others they’ve ever shared. 

It feels like the start of something. The start of them. 

* * *

Kurt wakes up at midday, somehow still sleepy and blinking against the light streaming through the gap in his curtains. He can vaguely hear movement upstairs, proof that his family have well and truly started their day. He turns his head and takes in Blaine’s sleeping figure, on his stomach and squished into the pillows. He lets his finger paint a pattern on his back, the contact feather-light and full of so much fondness, and he bites his lip when Blaine starts to wake up, too. 

“Morning,” he mumbles. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, the fondness in his eyes as well as the touch, now. “I forgot how cute you look when you’ve just woken up.” 

Blaine smiles at that – at the compliment and the reference to the only other time they’ve woken up together. Kurt had snuck into Blaine’s room last year and it had been so late that they’d both fallen asleep without meaning to, waking up at a similar time like today, midday and sluggish, and Kurt had been late to a family Christmas lunch. It had been worth it, though, to know how warm it felt to open his eyes and have Blaine be there, right there. 

And it feels warm now, too, the kind of warmth that sits in every corner of you and makes sure you never know the cold again. He flattens his palm against Blaine’s back and feels the comfort of having his skin underneath his hand. And he can’t help it when his hand slips up and into his hair, soft and sleep-matted. 

“Blaine?” 

His eyes have drifted closed again and he doesn’t bother to open them, but Kurt knows he’s listening when he hums for him to continue. 

“Why are you moving to New York?” 

That makes him open his eyes. And he takes a second before he replies, and then he says, “I just feel so entirely _outside_ in LA.” 

Kurt narrows his eyes, “You do know that Manhattan isn’t inside?” 

Blaine chuckles and grabs Kurt around the waist, shuffling on the bed and pulling him into his chest until they're face-to-face. “I know. It’s just... whenever I’ve been to New York, I’ve felt so safe in amongst all of the buildings, like I’m suffocating and can finally breathe all at once. And it’s closer to my parents. A bunch of my friends live there. Broadway. Pizza. You.” 

“I’m glad to know that pizza comes before me.” 

“Always,” Blaine teases. And then his tone shifts, suddenly awake and serious, “Kurt, I need you to know that this... _us_ , it’s never been about just sex for me. Well, maybe the first time, but every time since then... it’s more. It’s always been more.” 

Kurt just nods, still wrapped up in Blaine’s arms. He thinks he knows what Blaine means because he feels the same, has the three words inside of him too, but it’s too early. Even though it’s been years, not yet. “It’s always been more for me, too.” 

Blaine kisses him, Blaine chooses him. 

Chooses him for more than just Christmas. Chooses him for New Years and Valentine’s Day and Halloween, every holiday on the calendar. And Kurt chooses Blaine, too.

He always will. 


End file.
